


i pick my poison (and it's you)

by kay_emm_gee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Scientists, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Lawyers, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin is a biomedical scientist working at Ark Industries who finally gets promoted to independent project manager of a great team: Jasper, organic chemist; Monty, computer programmer; Raven, mechanical engineer; and Harper, Miller, and Monroe, staff scientists. While there are many bumps in the road as they start conducting experiments, the biggest has to be Mr. Bellamy Blake, the company lawyer who keeps bugging Clarke and her team about signing dozens of forms and generally being a complete, rude pain in her ass. </p><p>As the youngest senior law associate at Sydney and Shumway, Bellamy Blake is known for running a tight ship when it comes to his clients: take no prisoners, take no bullshit. He worked hard to get where he was, even managed to support his sister single-handedly while in college and law school. Still, he may have met his match in Dr. Clarke Griffin, who somehow manages to find away around his usual strict rules with her blunt charm and, as he later discovers, her intense dedication to her work. </p><p>Slowly, these two stubborn but passionate workaholics begin to realize they may have a lot in common, opening up the possibility of more than just a working relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright this was my fic for the Big Bang event last year that never got published. I finally had the energy to pull it out of the archives and work on it! Many thanks to @blake-family and @furiosaclarke for content critiques and beta-ing :)

As Clarke walked through the deserted lobby of Ark Industries, her heels clicking rapidly against the tile floor, she couldn’t help but smile. Looking up at the early morning sunlight filtering in through glass ceiling and front wall, she realized she had never quite appreciated how gorgeous this building was. Granted, she never usually got to work this early, but today was special. Today everything was brighter, and shinier, because today was the day she and her research team could move into their new lab space and begin serious work on what would be her first independently-led company project.

“Good morning, Murphy!” Clarke said cheerfully, tapping her ID card against the scanner as she greeted the security guard.

Murphy grunted at her, clearly not swayed by her mood.

“Have a good day!” She called back, still smiling regardless of the guard’s taciturn expression. Once in the elevator, she hitched her leather bag up higher on her shoulder, then tugged on her pale blue silk blouse to readjust that as well, tucking it more firmly into her pencil skirt. Maybe dressing up so nicely on move-in day wasn’t the most practical thing to do, but Clarke wanted to look the part, at least on the first day. 

When Kane had come to her with the offer to head up a new drug development group within the company, she had jumped at the opportunity. She had long since paid her dues here—working sixty-hour weeks, contributing excellent work on project after project, attending dozens of professional development workshops, networking with other researchers at companies around the world—and this was her chance to move up in the ranks at Ark Industries. If the offer had come from Jaha, she might have turned it down, because the last thing she needed was her co-workers thinking his friendship with her mother had gotten her the new position. She had suffered enough backlash after he had hired her straight out of graduate school, without any post-doctoral experience. At the time, Kane, and more than a few of her future co-workers, hadn’t been happy with that, but Clarke felt she had proven herself more than deserving of her position. With this recent promotion from Kane, however, it seemed as if he finally felt that way as well, and nobody would dare argue with the CEO.

When the elevator pinged open on the fifth floor, Clarke was pleased to see that it was just as brightly lit as the lobby. As she opened the door to her office, she grinned at the floor-to-ceiling window behind her desk that showed a gorgeous view of the river and the city skyline beyond it. While the view was certainly nice, her favorite part of the room was the enormous system of sliding whiteboards on the other wall, perfect for brainstorming new project ideas and keeping a list of her team’s project components and tasks. It had been her one extra request, and as much wheedling as it took from Sinclair to get it installed, it was definitely worth the fight.

Seeing the movers had dropped off her boxes successfully, Clarke set down her bag and began unpacking. She debated for nearly twenty minutes on how best to organize her books on the shelves lining the wall opposite the whiteboards, finally settling on by topic, then alphabetically. Her desk was the next task, a little easier because there wasn’t much difference in the setup from her old one. Although she arranged her desktop computer where she wanted it, she didn’t dare try and hook it up to the company’s network, leaving that beast of a task to the IT guys later in the day. Instead, she took to arranging her many containers of colored pens and markers, as well as the variety of frames showing off her parents, Wells, her dog Walden, and some scenic snapshots from her post-PhD Eurotrip. By the time she flopped down into her chair, admiring the finished product that was her now very organized office, she noticed echoes of excited voices coming down the hall from the lab.

Glancing at her watch, which read 7:30 am, Clarke grinned, because she had told her team they didn’t need to be here until eight, but clearly they were as eager as she was to get things rolling. When she walked into the lab, she saw Jasper glaring at Harper, who was staring stubbornly right back, guarding a tower of their boxes.

“Harper, c’mon. I just want to check and make sure they didn’t break my glassware. That’s all, I swear.”

“Bullshit, Jordan. I know you—you’re going to claim all the shelf space for your precious orgo gear and leave none for the rest of us. Besides, Clarke will probably want to have a plan for unpacking and setting up. So no, you’re not getting anywhere near them until she gives the go-ahead.”

Clarke watched in amusement as Jasper tried to get around her, feigning to the right and then left, but Harper didn’t budge, instead folding her arms over her chest and scowling. Monty, who was leaning against a nearby lab bench, caught sight of Clarke and choked down a laugh, waving at her. She waved back, giving him an exasperated shake of her head.

With all the preparatory meetings they had this summer, Clarke had grown fond of them quickly, learning to appreciate each member’s quirks. Jasper Jordan, though a bit spastic, was whip-smart, an out-of-the-box thinker and a top-notch organic chemist. He and Monty had been in the same graduate program, but somewhere along the line the latter had switched to pursuing a mathematics and computer science degree, and, after following Jasper to Ark Industries, he was now the company’s rising programming star. Monty was intense when it came to his work but a sweetheart in general, as was Harper, Clarke’s lead biomedical investigator, and apparently, if this scene was any indication, also a staunch and loyal rule-follower.

“Good morning!” Clarke called out lightly, drawing a pleased smile from Harper and a guilty one from Jasper when they turned and saw her. “Let’s head into the conference room and set out a battle plan before we start, hm?”

Ignoring the way Harper hissed a triumphant _told you so_ at Jasper, Clarke turned on her heel, her team following quickly behind. As they settled into the comfy leather swivel chairs around the large conference table, Clarke took the time to catch up on the end of everyone’s summers, waving in Miller and Monroe when they finally arrived.

With just about everyone present, Clarke rose up and began mapping out the lab on the whiteboard. She was almost finished when the door slammed open. Raven burst into the room, balancing a box of takeout coffee and two large paper bags on top an enormous box of doughnuts.

“’Sup, squints,” she said, sliding the food haphazardly onto the table. “I come bearing gifts. Compliments on my thoughtfulness, especially at this ungodly hour, are strongly suggested.”

Clarke bit back a smile as the team grabbed at the spread while mumbling their fervent thanks. Monroe was chowing down on a bagel like she hadn’t eaten in a few days, and there may have even been an actual whimper from Jasper as he sniffed contentedly at his large cup of steaming coffee. On her part, Clarke was never one to turn down caffeine, so she poured herself some coffee as well, adding copious amounts of sugar and cream before turning to Raven.

“Thanks for the breakfast stuff,” Clarke said. “It completely slipped my mind to do this for them this morning.”

“Nah, no worries,” Raven reassured her. “You got bigger things on your plate today, captain. Glad I could help.”

Clarke smiled at the mechanical engineer. She and Raven had gotten off to a rocky start earlier in the summer, clashing over theory versus reality regarding designs for the lab’s homemade machinery, but some brutally honest arguing and a few glasses of whiskey later, they were on the same page, and better yet, actually friends. Clarke didn’t know how she would’ve gotten this far without Raven, so she repeated her thanks. “Seriously, this is going to make today go much easier.”

“Well, just return the favor when one of your delinquents breaks my tech, which we know is inevitable. I take my coffee black, and sesame bagels only,” Raven replied, sinking into a nearby chair as she nodded at the whiteboard. “Let’s get this thing rolling before Jasper heads into a caffeine spiral. Nobody wants that, especially around flammable materials.”

Monroe and Monty laughed, while Miller just rolled his eyes. As the chatter in the conference room died down, Clarke stepped back up to the board. Uncapping the marker with a decisive pop, she started talking.

“Alright, everybody, here’s what I was thinking…”

* * *

 

Five hours, three accidents, two almost-fights, and one greasy, scarfed, very late lunch later, Clarke hovered outside the lab, dreading going back inside. Her ‘battle plan’, for lack of a better term, for setting up the lab had lasted about half the morning, descending into complete chaos as her team realized what they had thought would be a good setup up didn’t make a lot of practical sense. So, they had decided to wing it, unpacking stuff where it sat and they trying to move it into place.

Bad idea. Very bad idea.

The lab was quiet at the moment, but Clarke knew it wouldn’t last long. Jasper and Harper were very territorial, and Miller had almost no patience for crap like that, constantly snarking at the two of them over their arguing. Monroe just tried to do her own thing and stay out of it, while Monty played mediator. To both Clarke’s amusement and frustration, Raven just sat back grinning, either whispering to Harper to kick Jasper in the balls or shouting out calls for bets on whichever team members were clashing at the moment.

 _Day one, and already this is a disaster_ , Clarke thought defeatedly. If she didn’t get this under control, it would continue to spiral downwards, and that would not impress Kane, not at all. She couldn’t blow this chance, not when her career was at stake.

As Clarke psyched herself up for re-entry into the war zone, she couldn’t decide if her throbbing head or swollen feet were causing her more pain. Annoyingly, her blouse was charged with static too, and she just _knew_ there were some packing peanuts still stuck to it, even if Monty had promised her he had gotten them all.

Voices began to rise in the lab again, and with a groan, Clarke began pushing open the door, only to be greeted by a very loud, alarming shattering sound.

“ _Fuck.”_

Harper stood frozen in the middle of the room, surrounded by a sea of broken glass. Judging from the dropped box at her feet, clearly she had overestimated her strength in moving the heavy load.

“Jasper, I’m so sorry!” She pleaded as the chemist looked down in horror at his destroyed glassware. “It was a complete accident. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, turning her terrified face towards Clarke in supplication.

Pressing a palm to her forehead, Clarke breathed deeply twice, her inhales echoing loudly in the dead silent room.

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay,” she murmured, trying to get her blood pressure down, because they were all tired, and she herself had almost demolished a box of pipettes early today. “Here’s what we're going to do. Harper, don’t move until we get the glass cleaned up, then you and Monroe are going to run out and get some coffee for everybody. Take my card, it’s in my purse on my desk. Jasper, inventory what you’ll need to re-order and I’ll purchase the stuff tonight and put a rush order on it.”

With a wave, she sent her team into motion, though she gestured to Raven before she could join in.

“Do you have a change of clothes? I need to get out of these damn shoes and tights, before I lose circulation in my limbs.”

“Sorry,” Raven replied with a grimace. “Counted on moving us in as my workout today, so I left my gym bag at home.”

“I’ve got some stuff,” Miller called over. “It’ll be big on you, though.”

“Don’t care, as long as it’s comfortable?” Clarke asked hopefully.

“Sweatpants and sneakers.”

Clarke sighed heavily, and smiled. “I would give you a huge hug right now if that didn’t violate some company harassment policy."

With a chuckle, Miller jogged out of the room to retrieve the change of clothes.

“It’s not easy being in charge, is it?” Raven mocked, nudging Clarke with her elbow.

“I’m having _so_ much fun,” she shot back in a deadpan tone. 

By the time Miller had returned with the clothes, Harper and Monroe had taken off, and Clarke slipped into the bathroom to change. She couldn’t help but laugh, because she looked like a clown in Miller’s four-sizes-too-big clothes. Shucking off her blouse, Clarke stared down at the thin camisole she wore underneath. It wasn’t the most work-appropriate top, but she was practically a lightning rod because of the top’s static. So screw propriety. Her team wouldn’t care, she knew that much, and nobody else was going to check up on them today.

When she walked out of the bathroom, she heard Raven’s deep belly laugh coming from the conference room. Poking her head in, she saw Jasper and Monty had rigged up a projector and were now playing YouTube videos for everybody. Clarke joined them, not saying a word because they did deserve a break. After the coffee, though, she needed her team back in the lab. She had goals for today, and even if they hadn’t gone according to plan, she was damn well going to finish them.

It was only when the girls returned and Monroe slapped down a few six packs of beer onto the table that Clarke realized she was fighting a losing battle. With a reluctant sigh, she popped open the first drink, eliciting cheers from her lab mates. As she took a sip ( _fuck_ , that tasted good), she couldn’t help but smile against the glass rim of her bottle.

 _Delinquent lab head, party of one_ , she thought amusedly, moving over to lock the door. Labs frequently had after-hours drinks on site, sure, but this was her first day. Getting discovered drinking on the job at the moment would be a terrible start—or more likely a decisive end—to her tenure as a research project manager at Ark Industries.

Just as her hand touched the doorknob, it turned. She tried to get out of the way of the door, which was being pushed forcefully open, but Miller’s shoes were near impossible for her to move in at all, let alone quickly. Down she went, limbs flailing as she tried to catch herself, beer rocketing out of the bottle. Blinking through the foam on her face, she stared up at the intruder, who was looking at her in disbelief and concern. He was dressed in a well-cut, expensive looking suit, all long, strong lines. As she continued to stare at him from the floor, she took in his dark features, which were growing more handsome by the minute. Someone (probably Harper) coughed, and Clarke felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. Not only was she dressed like an idiot and soaked in beer at her _job_ , no less, but there was a very attractive guy here to witness it.

“Do I have the wrong room?” he asked, his voice low.

 _Time to get up and be a big girl_ , Clarke thought reluctantly, heaving herself clumsily off the floor.

“Depends,” she said, hurriedly straightening her clothes before looking up at him again. “Who are you looking for?”

“Dr. Clarke Griffin.”

Her stomach rolled, because _of course_.

“That’s me,” she admitted weakly, holding out a hand for him to shake.

He just raised his eyebrows, giving her an obvious once-over, his brown eyes judgmental. Feeling her temper start to rise—because okay, so she didn’t look the part, but so what—Clarke tipped her head up confidently. She was a professional, always, even if the people around her didn’t play along.

“What can I do for you?” She asked, trying to keep her tone even, when she really wanted to dare him to say something out loud about her state of dress.

With a smirk dancing around the corners of his mouth, the man strode past her, neatly setting his briefcase onto the table. “Bellamy Blake, contract attorney for Ark Industries. Kane asked me to stop by today to discuss legal restrictions about your work, and to drop off some forms for you to sign.”

Snapping open his case, he started slapping thick piles of papers onto the table, talking about liability waivers and non-compete clauses, proprietary rules and profit shares. Clarke’s head spun at the stream of words spilling out of his mouth. This interruption was the last thing she or her team needed today, if their overwhelmed looks were any indication.

“Mr. Blake,” she interrupted. The lawyer spun around to face her again, surprise clearly written on his face, as if he didn’t get interrupted much. “Now may not be the best time for us to talk. It’s been a long day for my team moving into and setting up our new space. We have lab meeting tomorrow at 10 am, if that’s a convenient time for you to stop by again?”

His gaze dropped to the beer bottle still in her hand, then back up at her face. Something harder glinted in his eyes now, and he definitely wasn’t smiling anymore.

“I’m on a tight schedule, Dr. Griffin. Not all of us can afford to live by the _it’s-five-o’clock-somewhere_ rule. I’m here to do my job, so if you’ll let me finish, I can be out of your hair in no time. Wouldn’t want the beer to get warm.”

Clarke sucked in a breath, beginning to see red, but as she noted Miller’s scowl and Raven’s thunderous expression, she realized she might need to be the rational one here. _It’s not easy being in charge_.

“By all means, then, Mr. Blake. Continue.” She nearly bit her tongue off saying the words, but he had a point. The faster he finished, the faster he would leave, and if that wasn’t something to celebrate, she didn’t know what was.

Throughout the entire time he lectured at them, she chewed on the inside of her mouth, trying not to frown at his clipped tone. Despite that, however, surprisingly he didn’t drown them in legalese, instead choosing to explain things in a way they could easily understand. As a scientist, Clarke knew how hard it could be to translate the jargon of your specialty into something others could grasp. Grudgingly, as she continued to listen, she admitted to herself he was probably very good at his job. Still, it didn’t give him the right to be so terse with them.

When he finished, she returned his handshake firmly and, with a polite smile, she assured him she and her team would return the paperwork as soon as possible.

“Glad we’re on the same page, Dr. Griffin,” Mr. Blake responded. “Have a good night.”

The second the door clicked closed behind him, Raven muttered, “What a jackass.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Monroe agreed, reaching for another beer.

As the rest of her team joined in on making fun of Mr. Blake, Clarke felt a warmth bloom in her chest. It was touching, really, that they were so protective of her and each other. This type of camaraderie was rare even in academia, let alone industry. Watching them bond, she smiled, thankful to have such wonderful people to work with.

So she popped open another beer. For a day that should’ve fallen short of her expectations, Clarke was somehow feeling satisfied, even hopeful, and she knew her team was the reason for her serenity.

 _Not a bad first day_ , she thought contentedly, taking a long sip. _Not a bad first day at all._


	2. Chapter 2

Impatiently, Bellamy checked his watch again. Another five minutes had gone by. Temper rising, he switched the hand holding his briefcase, glaring at the closed office door that read _Dr. Clarke Griffin._

She was late for their meeting. Very late.

He didn’t have time for this, not when he had a dozen other appointments scheduled for today. Bellamy really needed her team’s signed forms, however, otherwise he would have left a while ago. Three weeks he had waited for her to return them, but not a word for her or her team. So, he had dragged himself out to her office, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, given that he hadn’t been on his best behavior at their first meeting.

 _She’ll be back soon_ , was what one of her minions had said when he inquired after her. _She had an appointment at the cytometry facility earlier, sorting some samples._

Apparently ‘soon’, however, did not mean the same thing to scientists as it did to lawyers. Thirty minutes later and here he was, still waiting. He could go try and find her himself, but wandering around the building was not an enticing prospect. The labs here worked with some serious stuff and stumbling upon biohazardous material was not an appealing thought to him at the moment.

After taking another impatient glance at his watch, he decided he could at least get directions to wherever Clarke was held up. So Bellamy poked his head in the lab, scanning the room for someone to ask. There was the brown-haired guy fiddling with some liquid-filled beakers, jamming out to music blaring from his earphones. There was a girl across the way glaring at the guy, clearly not pleased with his noise or obliviousness. Neither seemed approachable, so Bellamy walked further in, ignoring the way the girl startled at his entrance.

That was when he saw Dr. Griffin, bustling about a lab bench at the far end of the room.

 _Seriously?_ He thought, furious. _How long had she been in here, while he was out there waiting?_

Striding forward, he was about halfway there when a quiet, snappish voice stopped him.

“I wouldn’t go much farther if I were you.”

Glancing to his left, he saw a woman, screwdriver in hand, tinkering with a large machine on the benchtop.

“I’ve been waiting for Dr. Griffin for quite a while now,” he shot back. “She missed our meeting, and I need something from her.”

“Your funeral.” She slid him a withering look, mouth pursed in distaste, before turning back to her work.

Gripping the handle of his briefcase tighter in frustration, Bellamy headed for Dr. Griffin. When he was one bench away, with her back to him, she snapped, “Not another step. I told you, anyone who comes near me while I’m working with this RNA is going to die a slow and painful death. Stabbing, by the dissection scissors, probably.”

“Dr. Griffin,” he said.

She froze, gloved hands hovering over her racks of tubes. She glanced at him, then at the clock, mumbling swears as she resumed her work.

“I’ll be done soon!” She called out. “I’m so sorry – the flow facility was backed up today, and I need to finish prepping these samples.”

“Dr. Griffin, I’ve already been waiting twenty minutes, and I can’t wait any longer, unless you’d like to explain to my next client why I missed my meeting with him. Do you have the signed forms or not?”

“I don’t,” she replied, a tightness in her tone as she continued to fiddle with the tubes.

“Well, can you get them for me, now?”

“I can’t, unless you’d like to explain to my boss why I ruined this important set of samples by putting this protocol on hold just to get you a few autographs,” she snapped back.

“Dr. Griffin,” he repeated brusquely, stepping forward, because her hostility really was unwarranted.

“Do not come any closer, Mr. Blake,” she warned, glaring at him over her shoulder. “If you so much as breathe on my samples, I will tell Kane to find a new law firm.”

“Have it your way,” Bellamy replied angrily. “I’ll let him know who’s to blame when he asks why his company is in proprietary jeopardy.”

Spinning on his heel, he stormed out of the lab, past the smug mechanic and her wide-eyed companions.

 _Fucking squints_ , he thought furiously. _Think they’re above everybody else_.

As he punched the elevator call button, he tried to ignore the rational part of his brain that was telling him lawyers were usually no better, and that he probably could’ve waited a bit longer because his next meeting wasn’t for another hour. It was the principle though, because he was nobody’s errand boy, and she should’ve sent him the forms weeks ago, like a responsible, professional adult.

So fuck Dr. Clarke Griffin, to be honest.

The anger simmered in him for a while after he left Ark Pharmaceuticals, but the day was a busy one— _what else was new_ —and eventually he was distracted from his frustration. By the time he returned to his office that evening, his anger had dimmed to dull annoyance. He just had too damn much to do to spend his energy being mad at the woman.

* * *

 

Setting his briefcase on his desk, he stared reluctantly at his answering machine, which had a dozen messages on it. That was the last thing he needed today, to add more work to his list. He could go home, wait to listen to them until the morning. Glancing around the dead office, he sighed, settling into his chair in resignation. He hadn’t become the youngest senior associate the firm had had in years by always doing things ‘tomorrow’.

So he punched the play button, pulling out a legal pad to take notes on. As the messages played, he scribbled away, wondering how he was going to accommodate his clients ‘urgent’ requests (they were always ‘urgent’, every single damn miniscule thing) into his already packed schedule for the week. A bone-deep weariness snuck up on him, settling heavily on his shoulders as the last message played. Slinking down further in his chair, he struggled to keep his eyes open in the dim light.

When he heard Octavia’s voice on the machine, he perked up briefly, only to resume frowning when he realized she wasn’t calling just to say hi. As she cheerfully reminded him that her mentoring group was coming to visit his office in two weeks, he glanced defeatedly at his completely packed schedule. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that he had agreed to tour them around in an effort to inspire some of her more promising mentees in regards to higher education and career paths. Groaning, he tried to figure out which of his clients would be the least pissed at him for pushing a meeting back another week. He couldn’t cancel on Octavia, not just because she was his sister, but because he knew how important it was for the troubled kids like the ones she worked with to see that there was a way out. It wouldn’t be easy, and he would make that clear when he talked to them, but still, he would never have ended up where he was if it weren’t for some very persistent school counselors who had shown him what he could achieve. So somebody would just have to be bumped. He tentatively circled a few options on his calendar, tapping his pen frustratedly as he attempted to pick which to move.

Then a recording of a soft, high voice started echoing in his dark office, a contrast to the low drawls of the rest, and Bellamy straightened up in surprised.

_“Uh, Mr. Blake, hello, this is Dr. Griffin. I just wanted to apologize for earlier today. You, uh, caught me at a bad time. Not that it’s an excuse, but it’s just the FACS schedule was backed up, which stressed me out, and Harper says I’m more dangerous than a wild animal when I work with RNA, but really, it’s kind of ridiculous how fragile it can be—but anyways, sorry, I’m rambling. Um, I just wanted you to know that I’m very, very sorry for being so unprofessional with you today. I’ll get the forms to you ASAP. It’s been really crazy around here, what with the lab and our first progress report due next week, but I promise they will be next on my to-do list. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, and I really appreciate you taking them time to come down here. Again, so sorry.”_

After a prolonged beep, the machine fell silent. Bellamy leaned back in his chair, Dr. Griffin’s sincere, sheepish, and exhausted voice still playing in his ears. Based on the timestamp, he had just missed her call. It was late, and was she really still at work at this hour?

Then again, so was he. He reached for the phone, drumming his fingers against the handle. If she was still there, he could catch her before she left to figure out a specific due date for those forms. Glancing at his watch again, he fell back into his seat, sighing.

It was late, and she sounded as tired as he felt. He supposed the forms could wait, a least a little longer.

* * *

 Bellamy stifled a groan when Diana Sydney walked past his office, glancing at him once absently, then again purposefully. He had been avoiding his boss, because he knew she’d be asking for the Ark Industries documents. It shouldn’t have been a worrisome thing, because he had all of the new groups’ forms all prepped and ready to go, well, all except one.

Dr. Griffin was proving to be quite forgetful. Even though he had called her multiple times, then visited the once, then called yet another two times, she still hadn’t sent him the documents.

Under different circumstances, he would think she was doing it on purpose. To piss him off, to make his life harder. He might even feel it was a bit justified, because his first visit hadn’t been particularly smooth, and his second one hadn’t been much better. There was something about Dr. Griffin, however, that made him believe she really _was_ just busy enough to not have gotten to the forms yet.

Not that Diana would accept that, however. Ark Industries was a big client for the firm, as well as one of the fussiest. It wasn’t surprising; they were one of the fastest-growing new pharma companies in the area, and thus very protective of their interests. And apparently, from what Bellamy had gleaned from meeting with the CEOs, Griffin’s group was taking their company in a new direction, thus the necessity of solidifying the legal parameters as soon as possible. So, it wouldn’t matter that he had every other group’s forms ready to file if hers weren’t included.

Predictably, it only took Diana a few minutes before she popped into his office, cornering him.

“Blake, you have those Ark papers yet?”

“Yes,” he fibbed, futilely hoping his bluntness would distract her. Diana Sydney was a master bullshit detector, though—you couldn’t not be for someone who had achieved her level of success—and she simply raised her eyebrows at his response.

“Really?”

“Almost,” he relented. “Just have one group left to finish.”

“The hold-up on our end or theirs?” Diana asked sharply.

Bellamy hesitated, because he wasn’t about to put his ass on the line for a stranger, but he wasn’t one to throw someone under the bus either. “Theirs,” he admitted, but then added, “But I haven’t checked up in a while. They may be waiting for my call.”

With a stern look, Diana said, “We need those forms filed ASAP. Get on it, Blake.”

“Done.”

Bellamy grabbed the phone as his boss strode out of his office, her heels clicking ominously on the tile floor. Snorting, Bellamy watched a flurry of hasty activity sprout up in the wake of her path, his co-workers trying to look as busy as they actually were when she passed their cubicles.

As the fervor settled down outside, he punched out the now-familiar number for Dr. Griffin. When the ringing stopped and the answering machine picked up, Bellamy sighed, wondering why he even bothered to call her office. She was never there. Instead, he tried the lab, also knowing that number by heart by now. Someone picked up on the third ring, answering the phone with a cheerful ‘ _Ark Industries, Griffin Lab!’_

“This is Mr. Blake, from Sydney & Shumway. Is Dr. Griffin there?” He asked, not feeling hopeful.

“One second,” the woman said.

Bellamy pulled the phone away from his ear as it crackled and a muffled yell pierced through.

_“Hey, anybody seen Clarke?”_

_“Christ, Harper, don’t yell when I’m distilling.”_

_“Shut it, Jasper. You have no right to talk, not with the way you blare your music. Have you seen Clarke?”_

_“Nope.”_

_“Helpful as always. Miller, Monroe?”_

_“No idea.”_

_“She’s in cell culture I think, making virus.”_

_“Thanks!”_

“She’s busy,” Harper chirped into the phone again. “You’re waiting on the forms, right?”

“Yeah, will you let her know, and have her give me a call today?”

“Sure thing!”

“Thanks. Have a good one.”

“Goodbye!”

Bellamy hung up the phone, then reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t going to hear back from Dr. Griffin, that much he knew. Or at least not until later that night when she finally got around to responding to her messages. He could email her a reminder, but again, she wouldn’t respond until later. It’d be at least nice to know if she’d even started filling out the forms.

Pushing back from his desk, he pulled his suit jacket off his chair. As he shrugged it on, he grabbed his keys, then locked his office behind him. He had planned on going out for lunch anyways, and it wouldn’t be too out of his way to stop by the lab. It’s what Diana would expect from him, that he had done everything possible on his end to get the job done. It is what he expected of himself, too.

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, though, when he arrived on the fifth floor of Ark Pharmaceuticals, Dr. Griffin’s office was locked. Wondering why he hadn’t gone straight to the lab first—because when was she ever in her office, except late at night—Bellamy headed there. Stepping up to one of the benches, he asked her coworkers if their boss was around.

The guy with the facial scruff and plaid shirt shrugged one shoulder, face blank. _Helpful_ , Bellamy thought dryly. Turning to the girl whose hair was pulled tightly into a braid, he smiled, hoping a more friendly expression would encourage her cooperation.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” she replied. “Check with Monty?” She gestured to the smaller man typing furiously away at the large collection of computer monitors in the next bench bay over.

After thanking them, he approached the busy man, waiting until his fingers stilled. The guy hit the enter key decisively, grinned in satisfaction, then turned to him.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Blake?” Monty said pleasantly.

Relieved, because this was the warmest reception he’d ever received from the members of the Griffin lab besides Harper, Bellamy smiled. “Looking for your boss, if she’s around?”

“Uh, yeah. She’s in the stock room looking for gloves, I think.” The tone of amusement in Monty’s voice was very noticeable, and Bellamy felt a little puzzled.

Clearly he was missing something, but he shrugged it off. That wasn’t his business. “Can you point me in the right direction?”

“Sure, it’s down the hall, around the corner, on the right side. You can’t miss it.”

Raising a hand in thanks, Bellamy set off again, the sound of noisy typing starting up again as he walked away. After half a minute of hesitant searching, he was standing outside the stockroom door, debating whether he should knock. Feeling foolish, because it wasn’t a private space, he pushed the door open, peering in hesitantly. He didn’t see Dr. Griffin, but there were definite sounds of movement. Stepping inside, he looked around the poorly lit room. Muffled swearing came from his left, so he walked around one of the large shelving units, pressing his lips together in amusement when he found who he was looking for.

Dr. Griffin was kneeling on all fours, her bottom half sticking out from a cupboard. She was using one hand to balance, the other to push around the cupboard’s contents angrily. Bellamy tried not to stare at her ass, which was sort of difficult considering she had a great one. It was unprofessional, though, because she was the employee of a client, so he looked away quite quickly. One of her feet wiggled in annoyance, causing her pencil skirt to tighten rhythmically with the movement. She was so focused on whatever she was doing that she clearly hadn’t heard him come in, if the litany of nasty words spewing from her mouth was any indication.

“Damn good-for-nothing chemist can’t fucking order my gloves. One thing, I put him in charge of one thing for the lab, and he can’t fucking do it. Has a fucking degree from MIT but can’t remember to order my damn gloves even though they’re on the goddamn order sheet. I’m going to strangle him, I swear to fucking—”

A loud clanging thud sounded, and Dr. Griffin hissed in pain. “Stupid fucking pipe, Christ, where the hell are the gloves—”

Holding back a large exhale, Bellamy began backing up slowly, because he couldn’t seem to catch a break when it came to Dr. Griffin and her moods. He misjudged the distance between him and the shelving unit, however, and he slammed into the corner of it, knocking some boxes off the shelf. Another thud echoed from the cabinet, followed by more swearing from Dr. Griffin. By the time Bellamy had straightened his mess, she had wiggled herself back out of the cupboard and was standing up, wincing as she probed the back of her head.

“Mr. Blake?” She asked in a surprised tone. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just—I really need those forms.”

“Shit,” she said slowly, flinching in pain as her fingers found a sore spot on her head. “I’m mean, shoot. I was supposed to gather them at lab meeting yesterday. Completely slipped my mind—what with Wick coming in unexpectedly, things didn’t quite go according to plan. I can have them for you by the end of the week.”

“It’s fine,” Bellamy said, holding his hands up placatingly. “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by because my boss asked me about them this morning. Just get them to me when you can.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke sighed. “I’m not usually this scatterbrained. It’s just one thing after another, you know?”

With a soft chuckle, Bellamy nodded, because he remembered his first weeks as an associate—a disastrous whirlwind of way too many all-nighters and over-caffeinated days. Like college, but much worse because there were not weekend parties to alleviate the tension. Judging from the dark circles under Dr. Griffin’s eyes, starting up a lab wasn’t any easier.

“What’s the matter with the gloves?” he asked, genuinely curious. She seemed pretty upset about such a trivial matter.

“Everybody in the lab wears latex gloves, but I have an allergy, so I need nitrile. Jasper was supposed to order more last week, but he forgot. I have some important experiments to do today, and I really, really need them, so I was digging around to see if we had any hidden away. Turns out we don’t.”

Bellamy had to stifle another laugh because she said the last words with such defeat, almost mournfully. He figured laughing at her wouldn’t help, though, because she was clearly having a rough day—though she didn’t seem to have any other kind, based on their previous interactions.

“Won’t other labs have some?”

She shrugged. “Probably. But it’s just the principle, you know? Like why can’t he order them when I ask him to, when they’re on the frickin’ sheet? It is not that hard.”

Frustration laced her voice at the end, and she folded her arms across her chest, scowling slightly.

“Take away his music privileges?” Bellamy offered jokingly, because somehow he had become a little accustomed to the Griffin lab members’ quirks between all the calls and visits to their boss.

Clarke laughed, high and light, her arms dropping to her sides. “I wish I could. Not how I run things though—I’m in charge, but we do things as a team. I don’t have that much punitive power, unfortunately.”

“Lucky Jasper.”

She smiled, tiredly. Pushing a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, she stepped forward, leading him out of the stock room.

“Can I get you the forms by the end of the week?” She asked as she walked him to the elevator.

“I’m holding you to it,” he said, stepping inside.

“I promise,” she said emphatically.

The doors slid closed before he could respond, only hoping that this time, she would stay true to her word, otherwise Diana would come after them both. 


	3. Chapter 3

As Clarke hurried across the parking lot of Sydney & Shumway, she struggled to keep her lab coat from flapping in the wind. Technically she wasn’t supposed to wear it outside the lab; it was a safety risk, in case there was biohazardous or contaminant material on it that shouldn’t be in the outside world. She was usually very careful about rules such as that. Today, though, she had been in such a hurry that she hadn’t even realized she was still wearing it until she was already pulling onto the highway. Maybe she should’ve tried to take it off on the way to the law office, but the last thing she needed was to get in a car accident. Already Clarke was risking her driving karma by going fifteen over the speed limit, trying to get to Sydney & Shumway before they closed for the day.

She really couldn’t believe she had forgotten to bring the forms over to Mr. Blake until the last minute. There hadn’t even been any big experiments on her schedule, but as per usual, her lab descended into barely contained chaos by mid-morning. Miller had stopped by her office spontaneously for a long chat about where his project was heading, and then Monroe had waylaid her about some sequencing results. Not to mention Wick had stopped in right after lunch to see how Raven was coming along with making the machinery adjustments that he had suggested last month. Or, as Raven had put it, _stopping by to annoy the shit out of me while I remedy his impractical designs that any undergraduate with a basic knowledge of mechanical engineering would easily recognize as entirely tragic._

Clarke yanked open the office door, and she almost smiled, recalling the oddly satisfied grin on Wick’s face when Raven had muttered a seemingly endless flow of obscenities upon seeing him in lab today. Their antagonistic behavior had been worrisome at first, especially when Raven had outright bellowed at him at one of their lab meetings in protest of some design improvements he had suggested. Soon, though, Clarke realized their hostility was probably just a front, something to mask the real undercurrent of their relationship, even as Raven protested—violently, if the thrown wrench was any indication—any ‘UST’ that Jasper had snickered about to Harper.

Raven had been in fine form today, though, so Clarke had hovered around in lab, monitoring her interactions with Wick, just to be safe. It was only when Raven had called her out— _stop mother-ducking me Clarke, I’m going to play nice today, and besides, don’t you have a stick-up-the-butt lawyer to visit—_ that she had remembered the forms. Her own litany of swears escaped as she raced back to her office, with Raven’s satisfied, barking chuckles at her heels. Forgetting completely about her lab getup, she had grabbed the forms and raced off to Sydney & Shumway.

Now, she glanced at her phone worriedly, bouncing on her feet and anxious for the elevator to arrive. It wasn’t quite five o’clock yet, and the office didn’t technically close for another hour. After making Mr. Blake wait this long for the forms, though, the least she could have done is delivered them this morning.

_Too late now_ , she thought ruefully as the doors slid open with a calm ding. Striding towards the office’s front desk, she tried to subtly tamp down her flapping lab coat. Her ID swung wildly from where it was clipped to the front pocket, making a dull clicking sound as it bounced around with the rhythm of her hurried steps. As she approached the expressionless secretary, Clarke hoped she didn’t look as harried as she felt.

“I’ve got some documents for Mr. Blake, if you could tell me where his office is? It’s urgent,” she blurted, wincing at her hurried words. Clearly, being cool and collected was out of the question for her today.

Not that recently she ever really was, but something about the sleek, dark wood and tense silence of Sydney & Shumway made her feel even more unruffled than usual.

The secretary just pursed her lips. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I know he was expecting me,” Clarke said, hoping her half-answer would get her past this blonde, uptight gatekeeper.

“Name.”

As Clarke answered, she drummed her fingers anxiously on the heavily lacquered counter. The woman clicked away at the keyboard, her eyes scanning the computer screen. Only after more than a couple of eyebrow furrows and sighs did she finally make eye contact with Clarke again.

“His office is down that way, past the cubicles, third door on the right,” the secretary said impassively, gesturing vaguely down the hall.

Calling a relieved thank you over her shoulder, Clarke took off. She ignored the curious looks of the various lawyers as she rushed by, her focus on finding Blake’s office. When she finally got there, however, he was absent. Stifling a frustrated whine, she spun around, hands on her hips. She supposed this is what he felt like when he came looking for her, and the irony both amused and frustrated her. Leaning against the door, because she had no other choice but to wait, she stared at her shoes, tapping the papers in an absent-minded rhythm against her side.

She was so focused on _not_ looking at Blake’s staring co-workers that she startled when a loud group suddenly approached. Looking up, she saw Blake walking backwards towards her, talking enthusiastically to a half-dozen teenagers, some sullen and some interested, with an attractive brunette woman trailing behind them. As they got closer, the kids’ attention wandered to her, and eventually Blake turned around.

“Oh. Dr. Griffin.” The carefree expression on his face settled into something more business-like as he stepped towards her.

“I brought the forms,” she replied, thrusting them out in his direction.

“Great. I was wondering if I was going to have to make another trip to Ark,” he said as he took them, rifling through the pile as if to make sure they were all there.

“I’m not quite that forgetful. Almost, but not quite.”

Blake’s lips curved up into the slightest hint of a smile at her joke, though he was clearly trying to tamper it down. When his gaze drifted from the papers back to her face, though, she saw the smile break out in full.

“Made it just in time—you were in a bit of a hurry, I’m assuming?” He teased.

Clarke felt heat rush to her cheeks, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Just a bit,” she admitted.

“I can tell,” he responded, tapping his finger against his temple. “Nice specs.”

It was only then that Clarke realized she had not only forgotten to remove her lab coat, but her lab goggles as well. Quickly, she reached up and slid them off, tucking them into her pocket with a nervous laugh.

Blake shrugged as if to reassure her, then held out his hand. “Nice doing business with you, Dr. Griffin.”

“You too,” she replied, shaking his hand in return. “Next time, I’ll be more on top of things.”

“Well, if you see me again, it’ll be for liability or workman’s comp forms, which won’t bode well for anybody,” Blake joked. “So let’s hope that stays a hypothetical.”

With a smile, Clarke nodded, waved in farewell, then brushed past him to leave. As she retreated, she heard him turn back to the kids, that light enthusiasm back in his voice as he continued what seemed to be a tour of the office. Clarke smiled, because as rude as he had been to her previously, maybe he wasn’t all that bad.

She was almost back to the front desk before someone called out behind her.

“Hey, Dr. Griffin!”

Turning, Clarke saw the brunette jogging after her, swinging braids framing her smiling face.

“Octavia Blake,” the woman said, offering a hand that Clarke shook firmly. “Bellamy’s sister.”

It took Clarke a minute to remember Blake’s first name, but then she smiled in understanding. “Nice to meet you,” she replied.

“I don’t want to hold you up, and I know you don’t know me at all, but I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”

Though Clarke was a little surprised, she waited for Octavia to continue.

“I’m a social worker, and I’ve started this new initiative at my office to take some of my more promising kids on tours of different career options, to motivate them and show them what opportunities are out there. My brother’s been nice enough to show them around here, and I’ve got a couple of other people who owe me favors who are doing the same. What I don’t have yet are some STEM options. Am I right in assuming you work in one of those fields?”

“I work at Ark Industries, in their biomedicine department, specifically drug development.”

“Perfect,” Octavia exclaimed, eyes lighting up in excitement. “Like I said, you don’t know me, but is there any way I could convince you to give a tour to my kids? I’d owe you one—I mean, I don’t know what I’d owe you, but still—”

Laughing, Clarke interrupted her. “Well, Octavia, considering I’ve been kind of a thorn in your brother’s side for the last month or so, I’d be happy to make it up to him by having your kids visit.”

“Ah, thank you! This means a lot to me, and to them, even if the little delinquents don’t know it yet. So we really appreciate it. Where can I reach you to talk about details?”

Clarke happily gave her numbers to both her office and the lab, smiling at the woman’s continued thanks. As Octavia bounced back down the hall, Clark walked away towards the elevator, feeling just a little bit relieved that there was a way to make up for her recent discombobulated state, especially when it came to Bellamy Blake.

* * *

Pinching her nose, Clarke glared at Jasper at the end of his lab bench while sucking in breaths through her mouth.

“The kids and Octavia are going to be here in twenty minutes, and the lab cannot smell like burned rubber!” She complained, her voice warped from blocking her nose.

“I’m almost done,” Jasper grumbled as the hurriedly cleaned up his supplies. “I was supposed to do this material prep tomorrow, but _somebody_ got on my ass about needing it sooner.”

A scoff echoed from the next bay over, almost immediately followed by Nathan’s head popping through the benchtop shelves separating the two work areas.

“Don’t blame this on me, man. I told you on Monday I needed that stuff ASAP.”

“And I told _you_ that Harper got her request in first and I probably wouldn’t be able to get to yours until next week.”

“My cells are going to be ready tomorrow. They grew faster than I thought, and I didn’t want to waste them,” Miller shot back, reaching for a bottle of buffer that he then unscrewed and began pouring into a graduated cylinder. “Besides, I asked nicely—said please and everything.”

“Only after Monty told you to.” 

Nathan’s only response was to slam the bottle back onto the shelf, his ears beginning to bloom red even as his face scrunched up into a scowl. Suppressing a sigh, Clarke silently wondered how her very smart, PhD-holding co-workers acted like they were still in elementary school.

“ _Anyways_ ,” she interjected, “how about we focus on making the lab not smell like a tire factory? The goal is to get the kids to want to go into science, not chase them away.”

“I could offer to teach them how to make meth! Nathan can be the Jesse to my Walter,” Jasper offered, giving her a cheeky grin as he pumped his fist in the air. “Science, bitch!”

Clarke huffed out a laugh, not so much at Jasper, but at the way Nathan was fighting a smile even as he rolled his eyes. Having accidentally eavesdropped on Monty and Nathan talking one night late in lab, she had discovered they were both huge Breaking Bad fans. No way Nathan could resist this conversation.

“Other way around, Jordan,” Nathan argued predictably, as he snapped some microcentrifuge tubes closed. “Like I’d ever be your second-in-command.”

As the two continued to banter, Clarke turned on her heel, wondering if they had fans in the lab storage, or less likely, a hidden stash candles or air fresheners. Sadly, her search of the stock room turned up nothing. Desperate for any solution, she finally spied a box of facemasks on her way out and figured those would have to do. She supposed they would at least dampen the smell somewhat. _Plus, it’d be kind of cool if they kids got to wear some lab gear_ , she reasoned.

_Or maybe they’d think it was dorky._ Muttering to herself, Clarke shook off her concerns, heading back to the lab. Until this morning, the tour hadn’t seemed that big of a deal. Coordinating plans with Octavia had been a breeze, and both Monroe and Harper had been happy to prep some experiments so the kids could see some of the cooler stuff they did, including fluorescence imaging as well as some live cell assays. These were standard hits with tour groups, because between the pretty colors of the staining and the concept of growing human cancer cells in a dish, science came out looking fairly awesome.

Still, all day her nervousness had been worsening. Maybe understandably so, given her track record of things going wrong when a Blake was involved. Gripping the box of masks tighter, however, Clarke tried to convince herself that the lab smelling gross was probably the most manageable problem they could have today.

When she got back to lab, the odor had dissipated quite a bit, so she tossed the masks aside, not needing them anymore. Sighing, because Jasper had opened a window to achieve that, and even though that was not exactly good because their lab was climate controlled and it would probably mess with the system, Clarke decided to let the room air out for another few minutes. The smell was almost gone, and the window was already open, so no great harm done. As she finally slid it closed, the door to the lab opened and Monty walked in.

“Murphy called from downstairs. They’re here!” he called out, grinning excitedly.

Letting out a large exhale to steel herself, Clarke plastered a similar smile on her face before heading for the elevator. As she rode it down to the lobby, she continually smoothed her dress, picked at her lab coat, and adjusted her half-up, half-down hairstyle. If she could pull off looking like an accomplished scientist—which in fact should be easy since she actually was one—the rest of the tour might go more smoothly. At least that’s what she told herself to calm her clenching stomach.

When the elevator doors finally slid open, revealing the glass-and-steel lobby sparkling in the warm afternoon sun, Clarke brightened her smile to match and stepped out. Patting her pocket to make sure she had her ID, because Murphy was a stickler and gave her a hard time whenever she forgot it even though he knew exactly who she was, she walked towards the raucous group that Octavia was clearly trying to reign in. Stifling a laugh at the echoing snatches of conversation— _wow, this is a fancy-ass building_ and _dude, I bet they have lab rats here, we should try and sneak one out_ —Clarke noticed that the clicking of her heels on the tile floor slowly drew their attention.

“Good morning!” She greeted them cheerfully. As she clasped her hands in front of her, she started introducing herself, and Ark Industries, before asking for their names and interests. Only a few mentioned medicine or science, but as she looked at their generally enthusiastic faces, Clarke felt relief wash over her that the group seemed overall happy to be here. That would certainly make her job easier today.

Motioning for them to follow her on up, Clarke turned back towards the elevators, but Octavia stopped her almost immediately.

“Cla—Dr. Griffin, sorry, we’re still waiting on one more.”

Before Clarke could ask who, he pushed through the door. Bellamy jogged towards them, keys clinking in his hand. Her pulse raced a bit as she watched him approach, the sunlight highlighting the lighter streaks in his brown hair as well as the freckles on his face. She had no idea that he was going to be here today and was a bit puzzled as to why he would be.

The surprise she was feeling must have appeared in her expression, because Octavia continued, explaining, “Somehow the bus I had booked to transport us was double-booked, so we resorted to carpooling instead, and I needed an extra driver to get the kids over here. He’s going to stick around until we’re done to get us back to the city, otherwise this field trip is going to turn into a sleepover. Which I’m guessing is not an option.”

Clarke flashed an understanding grin in her direction. “Oh, gotcha. Well, the more the merrier!”

Just as she finished speaking, Bellamy arrived at his sister’s side. “Dr. Griffin,” Bellamy said, nodding in her direction with a polite smile.

Clarke simply did the same in response, taking the moment to get her thoughts back on track. Then, with an excited _alright_ , she began shepherding the kids up to the fifth floor.

_So far so good_ , she thought as they crammed into the elevator. Moving back from hitting the button, she turned to face the group, startling when she realized Bellamy was only inches behind her. Well, in front of her now. He pressed his lips together in amusement, backing away as she stared up at him.

Hoping that was their last awkward interaction for the day, Clarke turned her attention back to the kids, starting to talk about how her lab was a cancer research lab, and they were looking to make new forms of drugs that could help treat different types of the disease. As she led them into the lab itself, she started grinning in response to their excited expressions, trying to see the space through their eyes.

It actually was kind of impressive-looking when she thought about it. From along the opposite wall of crystal-clear windows, lab benches jutted out into the room, consisting of long, sleek matte-black countertops divided into halves by the benchtop shelves. Various bottles, containers, and boxes filled the shelves, with pipettes hanging from the edges of the lowest ones. Microcentrifuges, scales, water baths, and hot plates were scattered across the benches, tucked away under the storage units. In between those were racks of tubes all filled with various solutions, colorful boxes of pipette tips, spray bottles, glove boxes, and vortexers. The occasional open lab notebook was out, and there were post-its stuck everywhere, either arranged in careful rows or scattered haphazardly, depending on whose bench it was.

Ultracentrifuges, fridges, and industrial freezers lined the other wall, all decorated with posters from vendors showing off important signaling pathways in the cell and stickers making bad science jokes. She saw the kids raising their eyebrows at a few of the lamer ones. Jasper would be heartbroken, considering he was the one who had posted the stickers in the first place.

Luckily, he wasn’t around at the moment, though Miller was still at his bench. He was currently loading a protein gel for a Western blot, which some of the kids seemed intrigued by. So, Clarke paused in her spiel about day-to-day life in the lab to explain what he was doing and why.

“Why is it called a Western blot?” One of the boys asked when she finished—Myles, Clarke was almost sure of.

“Funny story,” she replied, smiling a bit. “The original version of this technique was used to detect DNA, and the man who invented it was named Southern, and he named it after himself. Scientists do that a lot, you’ll notice. Later, the method was modified so it could be used to detect RNA—do you guys know what RNA is?”

Though she saw a few nods, the rest were uncommunicative, suggesting she should explain briefly. “Well, RNA is closely related to DNA, and conveys similar information, basically instructions for how to make all the things—specifically proteins—a cell needs to survive and function properly. And because RNA is so similar to DNA, they modified the Southern blot technique to be compatible for RNA. They thought it’d be funny to call it a Northern blot, then, to match the original technique’s name. Finally, when they figured out how to change it again to detect proteins too, they kept joke running, thus the name Western blot.”

“It’s kind of a boring name,” one of the girls, Tris, mumbled. Octavia glared at her for being rude, but the girl continued. “I mean, at least make the name something exciting if you develop something new.”

“Well, if you like naming things, you should look into fly genetics,” Clarke interjected before Octavia could reprimand Tris. Smiling at the girl’s wary but slightly interested expression, she elaborated. “Any new genes discovered are named after the way the fly looks when they mutate—or mess up—that gene, and the scientists can get pretty silly about it. So there are genes called _wingless_ and _hairless_ and _swiss cheese_ and _hedgehog_.”

“Why swiss cheese?” Sterling called out.

“Cause it has holes in its brain,” Miller said spookily, sending the kids a quick smile and a wink before he carried the now-loaded gel over to the voltmeter to get it running. Impressed, amused murmurings broke out among the group, along with a laugh or two.

“Why would you study flies? Like, why do we need to know about their genetics?” Trina, one of the louder girls asked.

“Great question,” Clarke responded, happy that they were already segueing into a conversation of what tools scientists can use to study biology and specifically human diseases, one of her planned topics of discussion for the day. “Did you know that about 50% of proteins in your human cells have almost exact matches to those in fly cells?”

Fewer heads nodded this time, and there were more skeptical but still interested looks. Quickly, to keep their attention, Clarke launched into an explanation of how the similarity between the genomes of humans and other animals is a very useful fact, and that using model organisms like flies can be an easy way for scientists to figure out what certain things in cells do, and also, if you mess them up, how that change affects a cell’s, or even an organ’s, normal behavior.

When Mel hesitantly asked about if you _have_ to use animals, Clarke decided to move onto another topic, reminded that as used to using animals for scientific purposes as she was, some of the kids might not be comfortable with that idea.

“No, we definitely don’t,” she said, feeling relieved as she watched Mel’s shoulders immediately relax, the concern on her face dissipating just as fast. “In fact, one of my team members, Monroe, is waiting for us down the hall to show you guys how we study cell biology outside of a living system.”

When they got to the cell culture room, Monroe took over control of the group smoothly, using her down-to-earth but upbeat attitude to engage them. Watching contentedly, Clarke glanced down at her phone, making sure they were on schedule. Harper only had the microscopy room for an hour, so they couldn’t be late.

Monroe was good at keeping the kids on task, though, as she let each of them have enough, but not too much, time to look at the cultures of cancer cells under the scope. The kids were pretty intrigued by the experiment, which involved testing to see if treatment of cancer cells with one of their in-development drugs stopped the cells from being able to move from the top layer of the dish to the bottom, as inhibiting that type of motile behavior characteristic of very aggressive cancer was an important attribute for this drug to have. Even Octavia and Bellamy seemed pretty interested after having their turn to look, stepping back from the scope with similarly impressed expressions.

Their reactions fueled the kids’ interest even more, clearly responding to their mentor’s interest, and, given the way they seemed familiar with Bellamy, his as well. Clarke could barely keep up with their questions as she led them to Harper and the microscopy room, smiling as their excitement bubbled over into interrupting each other. As they crowded into the small dark room, Octavia called out for them to settle down— _you’re delinquents, not heathens, alright? Inside voices!_ —rolling her eyes good-naturedly at the way they snarked back at her, joking but also respectful. Despite the teasing, they clearly knew where the line was, and Clarke admired Octavia’s ability to maintain such a friendly yet still professional relationship with her mentees.

Finally, when they had quieted a bit, Harper started speaking. Even though she was calmer than Monroe, the brilliantly bright colors of the stained tissue on the screen and Harper’s sweet nature held their attention. It was only when the kids pressed forward to get a closer look at the tumor tissue Harper was diagramming that Clarke noticed one of the girls was hanging back. As Octavia was busy keeping a watchful eye on the rest of the crew, she decided to approach the girl herself.

Given her small stature, she probably was only a freshman, and definitely the youngest of the group, Clarke guessed. The blonde French-braided pigtails she wore accentuated that fact even further. As she bent down beside the girl, who had ducked her head, Clarke realized she was holding back tears.

“Wanna go outside for a second?” She whispered kindly.

Slowly the girl nodded and Clarke slipped them out of the room, shuttling the girl past Bellamy, who was standing in the doorway. The rest of the group didn’t notice them leaving, but Bellamy looked up from typing away on his phone. Almost immediately picking up on the girl’s distress, he shot Clarke a questioning look but she shook her head: _I’ve got this._ Though he gave her an understanding nod in response and looked back down at his phone, she still sensed him glancing at them in concern as they walked down the hall.

When they had moved a bit farther away, she bent down in front of the girl and asked, “You’re Charlotte, right?”

The girl nodded, sniffing as she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Charlotte sucked in a teary breath, pausing for a long minute before whispering, “My mom died from cancer.”

A sharp ache squeezed through Clarke’s chest, and she berated herself for not checking with Octavia about something like this beforehand. It was easy, as a scientist, to get lost in the biology of the disease, viewing it as simply an intriguing problem to solve, rather than remembering it almost always meant grief or even death to others.

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke said, even knowing the words were useless as she said them.

Something in her voice must have conveyed her distress, though, because Charlotte shot her a small smile. “It’s okay. I just—I wasn’t expecting it.”

“I should’ve had Octavia warn you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Clarke almost laughed at that, because how had this turned into a fourteen-year-old comforting her?

“Well, we can wait out here as long as you need, and after this, we’re done with the cancer stuff, so you can join back in. But only if you want,” Clarke concluded hurriedly.

“I wanted to listen to it,” Charlotte offered meekly. “I was really excited to come today, because I want to know more about it. I just—it’s so hard, especially with everyone else there. Can you—I mean, I don’t want to miss it, so could you—”

“Yeah,” Clarke said softly, sending her a reassuring smile. “I can tell you about it out here. Whenever you’re ready. I’m better at speaking one-on-one anyways. Talking in front of groups—I get so nervous!” 

Charlotte nodded, giggling a bit at her babbling. As the last of her sniffles tapered off, she narrowed her eyes in determination, tipping her head to look up at Clarke. “Go ahead.”

Clarke started slow, pausing frequently in between her explanations to make sure Charlotte really was up to this. After she asked a few hesitant but insightful questions, Clarke began to talk a bit faster and with more feeling, though still tempering her passion so as not to intimidate Charlotte.

“What Harper was showing you in there is a new development we’re actually really excited about. The first picture, the one up on the screen when we left, was a tumor from a mouse that hadn’t been treated with the drug, the medicine we made. The next picture she was going to show you showed that the tumor size shrank to almost nothing when we gave the mouse the drug, which is really, really impressive and promising.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Charlotte commented shyly. “So if it works on the mice tumors, will it work on human tumors?”

“That is exactly the next question we’ll ask,” Clarke replied with an encouraging smile. “We have to go through many more rounds of similar experiments to the one Harper was explaining, and I have to fill out a lot of paperwork—not the most fun part of science, I can tell you that—but eventually, yes, we think this medicine has a lot of potential. Soon we’ll start working with Mt. Weather Memorial Hospital to get it into testing in the clinic. I’m really excited to see where it goes.”

“Wow. That’s—really really awesome.”

“Yeah, it really is,” Clarke said, not able to help smiling at the thought. To have a drug like this fast-tracked was a truly great start to her tenure as a project manager. Granted, she had taken over this particular project from another lab, so she still had a lot to live up to in regards to her team’s real purpose of screening new compounds for efficacy as anti-cancer drugs. The real victory would come when they produced a promising drug that they had developed, characterized, and moved to the clinic, start-to-finish all on their own. For now, though, she was taking a win any way she could get it, especially given the quarterly meeting she would have with the CEOs next month to update them on her team’s progress. Having a story like this one to present was going to be really satisfying for her, as well as reassuring to her bosses that her promotion was the right decision.

“You really love your job, don’t you?”

Startled from her thoughts, Clarke looked back at Charlotte. The girl’s expression was a bit amused, and Clarke laughed at her own absent-mindedness.

“You know, I do love my job.”

“Most of our tours have been kinda boring. The people giving them are just doing it for Ms. Blake and don’t really seem to want to talk about what they do. You’ve given one of the best ones, though. And Mr. Blake, too. You both obviously love what you do a lot.”

At the mention of Bellamy, Clarke glanced at him. He was staring very intensely at his phone still, but something about the tension in his shoulders told her he probably wasn’t as tuned out as he appeared.

“Passion for a cause or a career always makes a demanding job easier,” Clarke commented, still staring at Bellamy, whose lips were moving as if he was reading out loud to himself.

“Trina thinks he’s hot too,” Charlotte whispered.

At the abrupt change in subject, a choking laugh escaped from Clarke, echoing sharply in the empty hall. Bellamy did look up at that, his expression softening as he made eye contact with her. She waved him off, feeling herself blush as she turned back to Charlotte.

“I think he’s a little old for Trina, as would Ms. Blake, I bet,” she joked faintly, not liking the way Charlotte was grinning up at her cheekily.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“Well, if you’re so good at keeping secrets, then I guess I can tell you we have some homemade ice cream stashed away for you guys for the end of the tour,” Clarke said quickly, needing a distraction. “We made it using liquid nitrogen, which we use to keep stuff super, super cold, like -350 degrees cold.”

“Cool!” Charlotte exclaimed, her eyes lighting up in excitement.

As Clarke laughed at the girl’s enthusiasm, the rest of the group began filing out of the scope room and down the hall towards them. Luckily the kids were so keyed up that they didn’t notice Charlotte slinking back into their group. Octavia was talking with her brother at the back, her expression falling as she looked at the now happy girl bouncing along with her friends. She mouthed _I’m so sorry_ to Clarke, clearly having been informed to some extent on what had happened. Shrugging, Clarke mouthed back _no harm done—she’s okay._ They didn’t have any more time to talk about it, though, as Clarke needed to herd the kids into the conference room where Monty and Jasper had the end-of-day reward waiting.

The remaining half-hour of her time with the group was a whirlwind of laughter, groans at Jasper’s lame science jokes, and crazy-weird out-there science questions. Finally, when Octavia gathered the kids to have a concluding discussion with them, Clarke managed to grab a small bit of mostly melted ice cream. Almost moaning at the way it slid down her hoarse throat, she was so wrapped up in enjoying the break that she didn’t notice Bellamy had approached her until he spoke, voice low and soft, right behind her.

“You’re really good at this.”

Half-turning, she tilted her head up to look at him properly.

“At what?” she asked, a bit puzzled.

“Working with them,” he replied, jerking his head in the direction of the kids.

“Oh. You’re surprised?” Clarke wasn’t offended, just curious as to what prompted him to comment on that.

“It’s just—scientists can be kind of, awkward?”

She laughed loudly at that, because while it was a horrendous stereotype, he also wasn’t entirely wrong. Many of her co-workers had no sense of people skills, or political correctness. Still, they weren’t all like that, so she raised her eyebrows at him in teasing admonishment of his snap judgment.

Bellamy ducked his head briefly, lips curling into a sheepish smile.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s okay—,” Clarke started to respond with another laugh.

Then several loud, sharp pops sounded in the room. Shrieking in surprise and fright, Clarke jumped, backing right into Bellamy.

“Oh my god,” she exhaled under the sounds of startled and delight yells from the teens, suddenly registering a warm hand steadying her lower back. Another few pops shot off, and she flinched and shrieked again. The hand—Bellamy’s, she had finally realized—tightened on her reassuringly.

“What was that?” He asked, sounding both confused and amused.

Between the noise and the feel of his warmth at her back, it took Clarke a minute to gather her thoughts. It wasn’t until she noticed Jasper’s guilty but pleased expression did the situation clarify itself.

“Dry ice bombs,” she sighed. “Really, Jasper?”

“Hey, you said show the kiddos that science can be fun. What’s more fun than homemade bombs?”

Suppressing a groan—because _really, Jasper_ —Clarke looked around to make sure none of the kids were too upset. Thankfully, they all looked thrilled with the prank, though a couple of their stares shifted towards curious as they turned their attention to Clarke. Only then did she realize she was still practically pressed against Bellamy. Quickly stepping away from his grip, she rambled out an apology to Octavia for the incident before explaining the concept of the mini-bombs to the group. They were just small pieces of dry ice in small flip-top tubes, and that when the dry ice turned from solid to gas, pressure built up until it popped the top off and scared the living daylights out of anyone around.

Thankfully, when the kids began clamoring with requests to make some—to Jasper’s glee and Clarke’s alarm—Octavia yelled over them that it was time to go. It was impressive to Clarke how she wrangled the hyperactive, sugared-up teens into the elevators with minor delays. Slipping in with them, Clarke let out a silent sigh of relief, because as fun as it had been, the kids had been kind of exhausting.

“I don’t know how she deals with this every day either,” Bellamy murmured to her, quietly enough so that the distracted group wouldn’t hear.

“Makes late paperwork seem like a breeze,” she joked back, feeling heat rise in her cheeks when he let out a low chuckle in response.

“Nice try, Dr. Griffin. Not getting off the hook for that quite yet.”

“You can call me Clarke, you know,” she said in a rush as the elevator ding announced their arrival at the lobby. Stepping out, she let the kids, Octavia, and Bellamy file past, their conversation pausing momentarily as she escorted the group past Murphy to the front door.

With one last thanks and also surprisingly a hug, Octavia said goodbye and led the kids out the door. Bellamy followed close behind, but turned at the last minute, pausing in the doorway.

“Clarke,” he said slowly, mouth curving up into a half-grin. “Thanks again for this. It meant a lot to my sister.”

Clarke smiled back, pleased at the comment as well as at the use of her name. “Anytime—”

“Bellamy,” he added quickly. “It should work both ways.”

“Bellamy,” she confirmed, the syllables rolling off her tongue pleasantly.

Shaking his head in amusement, he gave her a quick wave before exiting, then jogged to catch up to his sister.

“Bellamy,” Clarke whispered to herself, grinning as she turned on her heel back towards the elevators. 

* * *

 

Her office was dark, lit only by her computer screen and desk lamp when her phone rang at eight o’clock that night.

“Dr. Clarke Griffin,” she responded automatically, spinning around in her chair to stare out at the deep blue night and the city’s skyline twinkling in the distance.

“Hey, it’s--Bellamy.”

She broke out into a smile, helpless to do otherwise. _He remembered._ “Hi.”

He took a deep breath before speaking again. “I just wanted to call and say thank you, again, for helping out Octavia. The kids were pretty impressed. Couldn’t stop talking about the lab on the way home.”

“That’s good to hear. Means we did our job.”

“Jasper was in particular a favorite.”

“He’s good with kids--because you know, he still sort of is one.”

Bellamy let out a deep chuckle, and Clarke imagined him in his office, leaning back in his leather chair with his hair ruffled and tie loosened, phone pressed to his ear. It was supremely unfair how much that image undid her. As her skin prickled with the unfortunate awareness of her growing attraction, she swore she could almost smell his cologne from earlier. _Damn it._

“You working late tonight then?”

His question startled her, and it took her a moment to respond. “Yes, though I’m late every night, so I suppose it could just be called working. Seems like you’re doing the same.”

“Why didn’t we go into professions that paid for overtime?”

She laughed quietly and began pulling the pins out of her hair, thinking that she might not actually be working all that much longer. And she didn’t, because Bellamy kept talking to her in that low, tired rasp of his, and twenty minutes later she wasn’t reading research articles but instead laughing at a video of Brooklyn 99 he had sent her in an attempt to convince her to start watching.

If this was their third or fourth call instead of the first, Clarke would have been brave enough to slide in a sly line about forgoing working late for dinner instead or asking if he ever wanted to play hooky to go to happy hour one evening. No matter how much her stomach fluttered at his teasing laugh, however, would change the nagging notion that he was just being nice, just being friendly. They had come a long way from their initial animosity and she wasn’t about to ruin it by making it awkward between them. He was still the company’s lawyer and would be connected to her professionally for the foreseeable future. 

That thought shouldn’t have made her happy as it did, but when she hung up the phone, it was more than a little comforting to know there was the possibility of seeing him again in the future.


	4. Chapter 4

Bellamy no sooner walked into Grounders on Friday after work than a glass of Macallan, his favorite scotch, appeared on the counter. From behind the bar, Lincoln gave him a serious once-over before pulling the bottle back out and doubling the drink’s volume.

Bellamy chuckled as he slid onto a stool, loosening his tie. Apparently he wore his frustration on his face, or it was probably that Lincoln just knew him really well. There were perks to having your favorite bartender and friend date your sister, even if he hadn’t been thrilled by it at first. One of those perks involved him stocking your favorite scotch, even though it wasn’t the usual type of drink served at a dive bar like this, and on a day like today, Bellamy was especially appreciative.

“Rough day?” Lincoln commented as he poured himself a glass of water, chugging it down before slapping a rag over his shoulder.

“Dax is a pain in my ass, and Shumway buys into his bull every time. He’s still claiming I stole the Ark Industries job out from under him, and takes every chance to get back at me. He’s a fucking child.”

Lincoln nodded his head in understanding, sliding his empty glass onto the back counter before stocking the cooler in front of him.

“How’s it been here?” Bellamy asked.

“Fine. Not too busy.”

Nodding, because that was really as talkative as Lincoln got unless O was around, Bellamy finally lifted his glass, swirling the amber liquid around a bit before bringing it to his lips. With a pleasant, warming burn, his first sip slid down smoothly, and the way his muscles relaxed in response was almost instantaneous.

Lincoln snorted, an amused smirk on his face.

“You and your scotch,” he murmured. “Fuckin’ religious experience.”

“Like you and your craft beer,” Bellamy shot back, grinning.

“Different folks, different strokes.”

The wryness in Lincoln’s tone made Bellamy laugh. Then Nyko called out for Lincoln from the back room, and Bellamy was left on his own with his drink. He resisted the urge to check his phone, because that would just lead to thinking about work. O wouldn’t be here for a little while, so he simply stared at the rows of bottles lining the shelves at the back of the bar. As he sipped, the noise in the bar grew increasingly louder, as more and more people trickled in to celebrate TGIF.

Raising his glass to his mouth once more, he almost choked as someone knocked into him from behind.

“Brother!” Octavia sang out, giving him another squeezing hug even as he tried not to spill whiskey on himself.

“Twenty-something years old, and still a menace,” he replied dryly. “You almost just ruined another shirt, by the way.”

“Like you don’t have a walk-in closet full of them already.”

“Says the girl whose entire under-the-bed consists of boxes of shoes.”

Before Octavia could respond, Lincoln walked up from where he had been serving customers down at a more crowded area of the bar.

“Hey,” she greeted him warmly before leaning over the bar for a kiss.

Bellamy just took another sip of his drink, waiting for them to finish. As per usual, Octavia kept pushing her luck, trying to hold onto Lincoln over the bar longer just to annoy him.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled good-naturedly, jabbing her in the side with his elbow. “That isn’t sanitary.”

“His bar, his rules,” Octavia chimed, smiling goofily, looking just a little bit lovestruck. It would bother Bellamy more if Lincoln didn’t look exactly the same way, staring at his sister with such fondness.

“That’s not what you said when you tried to get up and dance on this very bar counter two weekends ago and I told you no,” Lincoln teased quietly.

Octavia frowned, apparently still annoyed about that, and Bellamy laughed at her expression. Without glancing away from Lincoln, she reached over and flicked his ear in retaliation. Bellamy tried to grab her hand as she kept flicking him, but she pulled it back too quickly for him to catch.

“You’re annoying,” he said.

“You’re annoying-er,” she replied.

“Oh what, going to stick out your tongue at me now?”

“Maybe I will.”

With an amused sigh, Lincoln moved back down the bar, seemingly having had enough of the Blake siblings’ shenanigans.

“You drove him off,” Octavia said, pouting in exaggeration.

“He’s _working_ , O.”

Octavia sighed, then popped up in her seat, reaching over the bar into the cooler for a beer and a bottle opener. As she flipped off the top, she asked Bellamy how his day had been. He relayed the same information to her as he had to Lincoln, though maybe with a little less frustration this time around. The whiskey was doing its job, clearly. He elaborated on a few of the cases he was working on at the moment, giving his sister a chance to have her drink. When she had finished about half, he turned the conversation around, wanting to know about her day.

Like usual, Octavia launched into story after story of her kids, her co-workers, random people she met during her day. His sister was a talker, and he liked that about her, liked listening to her enthusiasm and bubbly energy. By the time she had just about run out of stories to tell for the moment, his glass was empty and the bar was buzzing loudly, full of people with rumpled work clothes, faces glowing as they unwound from the week.

Suddenly, one particular glowing face caught his eye. Dr. Griffin. Clarke. She was sitting at a high-top with her co-workers, tired smile on her face as she stirred her drink absently. Even though she looked exhausted, there was a relaxed air to her that Bellamy hadn’t seen before, at least not to this extent. A glimpse of it had appeared when they had last talked, especially in how she had smiled at him when she said his name. She had a pretty smile, he realized, still staring at her across the bar.

“Ah-hah,” Octavia said suddenly, gleefully.

Bellamy flicked his glance back to his sister, who was, unfortunately for him, turned around and also looking at Clarke.

“No,” he muttered, reaching for his glass again. Octavia had twisted back around, grinning widely. Scowling at her, he lifted his drink for another sip, tipping it back, back, back, until he realized, too late, that is was empty.

Craning his neck, he looked down the bar for Lincoln, steadfastly ignoring the way Octavia was staring at him calculatingly.

“Go over and say hi,” she urged, knocking her knee into his.

“No,” he repeated, still trying to catch Lincoln’s eye. He really needed another drink.

“You’re such a baby. You’re into her, I can tell. Just go over.”

Bellamy continued ignoring her, because lately she had been annoyingly interested in getting him set up with someone. _You’ve worked hard long enough Bell—the law isn’t everything. Plus, I want a sister, so find a nice girl and date her._ It wasn’t like he was celibate—far from it. Dating, though, was a different story, because the firm’s claim on his time made it difficult to make anything last. It didn’t bother him much, because he liked his work—and yeah, he also _really_ liked the financial freedom it provided him—and he was happy with his life. There wasn’t a piece missing, even though O tried to convince him otherwise. _Do something for yourself, just for you. Not me, not the company, you._

Apparently O had now set her sights on Clarke being that person. Sure, Bellamy thought she was attractive, and her scatteredness had become less annoying and bordered on adorable. Their personalities were probably not the best suited, though, given that basically half of their interactions so far had ended in anger. That didn’t bode well, so even just a one-night stand seemed like a bad idea. Besides, he was her company’s lawyer; there had to be some rule against fraternizing with client employees.

“Fine,” his sister grumbled in response to his stubborn, silent denial.

Relieved that she was letting it go, Bellamy finally gave up on getting Lincoln’s attention, because the bar really was getting crazy busy. Instead, he opted for grabbing a beer like his sister had. He had no sooner popped the top off than Octavia stood up.

“Well, if you won’t go say hi, I will. Especially considering I’m the one who invited her here.”

Bellamy nearly choked on his beer, barely managing to snag his sister’s arm before she could dart away.

“You did what?” He sputtered, one hand tightening around her arm and the other around his cold bottle.

“I called her a few weeks ago, right after the kids toured Ark,” Octavia said, shrugging, her tone suspiciously even. “She was so great with them, and it really had been a huge favor for her to do that for me, so I told her she could come down here and get a round of free drinks for her and her co-workers. I told her to ask for Lincoln, and to drop my name. Earlier this week, he said she hadn’t come in yet, so I thought she wasn’t going to take me up on the offer. I guess she changed her mind.”

“Then let her have her free drinks in peace,” Bellamy said, glaring at his sister, whose face was way too nonchalant.

“You really think she took me on my offer?” Octavia asked skeptically. “Seriously, I’m just going over there to make sure she gets her free drinks. I have a feeling she won’t use it unless I make her. And I do want to pay her back. Hide in the corner over here if you want. Doesn’t matter to me.”

With a roll of her eyes, Octavia pulled away, weaving quickly through the crowd to get to Clarke and her table. Bellamy took another long pull of his beer, debating whether he should follow. He saw no need to submit to his sister’s whims; it was probably too late to subtly join her anyways. Still, he kept glancing their way, feeling oddly satisfied at how Clarke greeted his sister with a smile and a hug. Then suddenly she looked over, catching his eye. Lips curving up, he raised his bottle in acknowledgement. With a laugh, Clarke did the same with her glass before bringing the straw up to her lips to take a sip, her attention moving back to Octavia.

Bellamy turned his own attention back to his beer, though in between sips he snuck a few more looks at the other group. He never caught Clarke’s eye again, but his sister gave him more than a few pointed stares. Once she raised her hand and secretly beckoned him over in jest, he stopped looking, because apparently he was only encouraging her.

He was on his second beer by the time Octavia finally returned. The first thing she did when she sat down was to start squawking chicken noises at him, then whispered, “Pathetic.”

“I’ll buy you a drink if you shut up about it,” he muttered.

“Given that my boyfriend owns the bar, I think my drinks are already covered, thanks.”

“Mooch.”

“Hey!”

Bellamy laughed at her indignant tone, slowly shaking off his embarrassment. Octavia scowled at him for a few seconds before leaning over the bar again, fishing around for something. Finally, she exclaimed in triumph as she pulled out a deck of cards. Slapping them down on the counter, she grinned at him.

“Wanna play fourty-fives?”

“You’re so gonna lose,” Bellamy taunted, taking out the cards and shuffling them with a flourish.

Octavia scoffed, took a sip of her beer, and then held out her hand. “I’m dealing.”

“Suit yourself,” Bellamy responded with a shrug and a smile as she began laying out the cards. “You’re still going to lose.”

“We’ll see about that.”

* * *

 

“Do you have any sevens?”

“Nope. Go fish.”

Octavia sighed, picking up a card from the pile. “Your turn.”

Bellamy stared at the cards in his hand, frowning. He was losing. An accomplished lawyer who was the youngest senior associate at his firm was losing Go Fish to his baby sister, in a dive bar nonetheless. And he wasn’t even that drunk.

At least he had won their mini-tournament of fourty-fives. Soon, though, Octavia had gotten bored with that, saying it was too complicated for a boozy Friday night. Neither wanted to play War or ERF, because they were in public and both knew their competitiveness would get the better of them. So, Go Fish it had been.

“Ask for an even numbered card. She has lots of those.”

Jerking his head up, Bellamy saw Clarke standing at his sister’s side, smiling. Her hair was down now from her earlier ponytail, a bit mussed as if she had shaken it out. It just reached her shoulders, contrasting brightly against her black shirt.

“Hey, don’t help him!” Octavia laughed.

“He kind of needs it,” Clarke observed teasingly, glancing down at his much smaller pile of collected cards.

“Sadly, I kind of do,” he repeated with an exaggerated sigh.

Clarke laughed at that, reaching out to pat him on the leg. “Don’t worry, I suck at cards too.”

“I won fourty-fives earlier,” he boasted.

“Barely,” Octavia interjected.

“Barely? You were more than half my score behind!”

“Was not!”

“Excuse me,” Lincoln interrupted, appearing out of nowhere, his focus on Clarke. “Can I get you a drink? And I’m sorry for these two. They’re insufferable.”

Before Clarke could respond, Octavia reached over and poked Lincoln in the cheek.

“We weren’t being rude,” she argued. “Plus, from what I hear, Clarke is used to my brother being obnoxious.”

Raising his eyebrows, Bellamy turned to Clarke, who immediately flushed.

“It’s not like it’s untrue,” she protested in a slightly embarrassed but also challenging voice.

“I believe you were the one who threatened to stab me with a pair of scissors if I got too close. And by too close, I mean within ten feet of you.”

“I already apologized for that! Besides, you’re the one who was rude when we first met—”

A sharp whistle interrupted her, and they all turned their attention back to an amused Lincoln.

“Apparently you can hold your own,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Still, do you want a drink? It’s on the house of course.”

“Actually,” Clarke said slowly, a hesitant look in her eye. “I’m good on the drink front, but—okay, so I know this is a weird request, but do you have a whiteboard, or a chalkboard? I figured you might have something like that, that you use as advertisement outside the bar, and I was wondering if I could borrow it.”

“Uh, yeah. Let me go get it.”

As Lincoln jogged off, dodging Nyko who was flinging bottles about while mixing some fancy drink, Bellamy turned to Clarke, puzzled at her request. He didn’t have to wait long for an explanation, because in her typical blunt fashion, Octavia asked, “What’s up with needing a whiteboard?”

Clarke shrugged. “It’s kind of silly, but my team seems to do our best thinking when we’re a bit tipsy, and, uh, we’ve been really stuck on the next steps for this one project—because somehow we’re still seeing our reporter gene get activated even though we’re throwing a shit-ton of canonical Wnt-antagonists at it, like we’re practically killing the cells at this point, but they’re still lighting up like a Christmas tree, and it wasn’t until Harper just mentioned seeing a paper last week talking about Wnt non-canonical crosstalk with Notch that it clicked—anyways,” she paused suddenly, laughing a bit at what must be matching confounded expressions on his and his sister’s faces, because Bellamy certainly felt more than lost at all that jargon. “Anyways, we need to diagram some pathways, and the bar napkins just aren’t cutting it anymore.”

“It’s Friday night, aren’t you supposed to be _not_ thinking about work?” Octavia asked a bit incredulously.

“Science is 24/7 for most of us, whether we like it or not. And to be honest, we do like it that way, crazy as it sounds,” Clarke admitted, an enthusiastic satisfaction in her voice.

“You two confuse me,” his sister remarked. “I mean, I love my delinquents, but Friday through Sunday, I do not want to think about their cute little mugs in the least.”

Turning to Bellamy with a small grin, Clarke asked, “Always been a workaholic then?”

“I’m not addicted, I swear,” he joked, running his thumb over the rim of his beer bottle. He couldn’t help but smile, recalling their previous conversation over the phone. “I can stop anytime I want.”

Clarke laughed, shaking her head in agreement. “But do you want to stop, is the real question.”

“No,” Bellamy answered immediately, even as Octavia kicked his leg in frustration.

“Me neither,” Clarke agreed emphatically, her eyes twinkling at him in understanding.

Bellamy smiled in return, not looking away until Lincoln finally returned with the whiteboard and a handful of markers to match.

“Here you go,” he said, struggling to pass them over without knocking anybody in the face. Clarke leaned forward between the siblings to help, her side suddenly brushing against Bellamy’s. The contact only lasted a few seconds, but it sent spirals of excited warmth through him. She pulled away eventually though, resting the edge of the board on her toes as she held it in her hands.

“Well, Miller’s probably chomping at the bit to get this sorted out, so I’m going to go. I’ll bring the board back when we’re done.”

Lincoln nodded, lifting a hand in farewell before he darted off again, yelling back at Nyko, who had been impatiently calling for him, that he was _on his fucking way, calm the fuck down you big baby._

“And to think, I thought he didn’t even know what a swear word was when I first met him, he was so calm and polite,” Octavia said amusedly.

Clarke laughed, Bellamy sighed, and Octavia spun in her seat.

“It was great to see you, Clarke. Really, come back anytime,” his sister said fondly.

“We probably will. The team really likes the place.”

As the girl continued chatting, Bellamy tried to ignore the satisfied feeling bubbling up inside him at the thought of running into Clarke here again.

“See you around?” Clarke finally said, turning to him, a curious look on her face.

“See you around,” he repeated, shooting her one last smile. Nodding, her lips curved upwards as well before she turned, shuffling her way through the throng, smacking more than one person with the board as she moved along. Bellamy chuckled at the faint repetition of ‘ _sorry, sorry!’_ that she offered to those affected.

“Tell me why again you aren’t going to ask her out?” Octavia asked under her breath, calling his attention back to her. “Because she’s nice, and funny, obviously super smart, calls you on your shit, and oh, look at that, is a workaholic too. How would you ever get along.”

Bellamy just rolled his eyes, swiveling around in his seat to face towards the bar again. “Let it go, O.”

“You’re impossible,” she grumbled.

“And yet you love me anyways.”

Letting out a very dramatic sigh, Octavia punched him in the arm before leaning her head affectionately on his shoulder. “Somehow, that I do.”

“Ready to call it a night?” He offered, noticing she was stifling a yawn.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Quickly, they gathered their bottles and threw them into the recycling bin behind the bar, wanting to help Lincoln out on such a busy night, before shrugging on their coats. As Octavia was distracted by rifling through her purse for her phone to text Lincoln, Bellamy managed to glance over one last time at Clarke. There was an uncapped marker tucked behind her ear, another one clutched between her mumbling lips, and yet another one in her right hand, which was sketching rapidly across the whiteboard. Harper was leaning over her shoulder pointing at something, to which Miller seemed to take disagreement with, based on the vehement way he was shaking his head. Clarke, though, just slapped his hand as he went to erase something, then glared at Jasper when he laughed at that.

It was only when Raven caught him staring, narrowing her eyes as she considered him, that Bellamy finally looked away. Suddenly very ready to leave, Bellamy snapped at Octavia to hurry up. She just threw up her middle finger as she continued to type on her phone, so he pushed her along, guiding her through the crowd and out into the night, where the fresh air cooled his heated face, which was certainly not flaring red with embarrassment at having been caught staring at Clarke Griffin across the bar for the third time that night.

Nope, that wasn’t it at all.

* * *

It only took two weeks for Bellamy to break down and find an excuse to visit Ark Industries again, which involved the very weak pretext of dropping off some contracts for Kane to look over while really hoping he would run into Clarke.

As he wandered along the second floor hallway, heading for Kane’s office, he wondered what valid reason he could come up with for finding his way to the fifth floor. It probably wouldn’t matter anyways, he figured, gripping his briefcase tighter, because Clarke most likely wasn’t around or wouldn’t have time to stop and chat, what with her trying to cure cancer and all that. Sighing, Bellamy was almost at Kane’s office when he turned a corner and stopped, staring at the very woman whom he had been hoping to find.

She was in the glass-walled conference room to his right, standing next to a projector screen, pointer in hand, talking rapidly as she gestured at the presentation currently running. Dressed in a work-appropriate but still very flattering navy blue dress, she stood with her feet shoulder-width apart, stance strong and expression intense as she addressed the people seated around the conference room table. From the few glimpses he could see of her audience’s faces, they appeared very interested, even pleased.

One of them interrupted her to ask a question, which, after a contemplative pause, she answered, even getting a laugh out of the group at her response. She flashed a tight smile at them, not unkind, just focused, and then continued on. A few minutes later, she dropped her arms, clutching the pointer tightly in front of her, though the rest of her posture exuded a seemingly relaxed confidence.

Muted applause echoed from the room, and Bellamy smiled, noticing the way Clarke’s shoulders relaxed just slightly, clearly relieved at finishing her talk. She answered a few more questions, but it seemed that the group was satisfied enough to not ask too many. Before he knew it, the conference room door was opening, and he froze, realizing he should probably look occupied, instead of like a deer in headlights.

Luckily, the group headed the opposite way from him down the hall, though Kane had remained behind to talk with Clarke as she packed up her computer. Ambling to one side of the hall, out of eyesight, Bellamy waited, catching the tail end of their conversation.

“—very good job, Clarke. The progress you and your team have made is impressive. We’re very excited about the drug from Forrester’s team. Also that new compound you mentioned. We’ll have to set up a meeting next week to get started with the hospital. I’ll email you Ms. Vie’s number later so you can get that ball rolling beforehand.”

“Sounds great,” Clarke replied, her voice a bit hoarse but nonetheless excited.

“Keep up the good work,” Kane said. Even footsteps then headed for the door, and Bellamy turned his back, looking down at his phone. As the steps faded down the hallway, he turned hesitantly, seeing Kane’s retreating back. Drumming his fingers against his thigh, Bellamy debated just walking right by the conference room and straight to Kane. This wasn’t the place, or the time for what he wanted to do. Then he heard her happy, quiet, proud laugh come from the room, and the heartwarming sound made up his mind for him.

When he rounded the doorway, Clarke was half-sitting on the table, hands cupped over her mouth, but Bellamy could still tell she was smiling. Her cheeks were blotchy red, probably from shocked but also pleased excitement, if her posture and the sincerity of Kane’s words were any indication. Though he stood there looking at her for a few good long seconds, she didn’t notice, obviously still caught up in her high from the meeting.

“I’m guessing congratulations are in order?” He finally offered in a soft voice, trying not to seem too intrusive.

She did startle, but then she looked over at him and smiled giddily. Even though he knew it was because of her successful presentation, and not because of his presence, Bellamy couldn’t suppress the buoyant feeling it sparked in his chest. Clarke was simply exuding such a radiant energy that he just let himself get caught up in it.

“Oh my god, an hour ago I felt like I was going to throw up from nerves. Now I feel like I’m going to throw up because I can’t believe I got a ‘good job’ from Kane.”

“He’s not that much of a hardass,” Bellamy offered. Not that he had much contact with Kane, but the guy didn’t seem like the tough type, at least not with someone as talented as Clarke.

“It’s a long story,” she said with a sigh, her words heavy, even though her smile didn’t falter.

“I’d like to hear it,” Bellamy said, the words escaping before he could stop them. “I mean, if you want to tell it. That is—would you want to grab dinner sometime?”

He winced, wishing his last words didn’t sound so hesitant. As Clarke stared at him, her lips parting in surprise, his uncomfortability grew. He shouldn’t have asked—it was too soon, they barely knew each other. She probably wasn’t interested. Hell, they barely had managed to have pleasant interactions recently. He shouldn’t have asked.

“Oh, um—”

“Just a thought, no pressure,” he offered hurriedly, trying to ease the tension. “If you don’t want to, don’t worry about—”

“No,” she blurted, her flushed face growing more red, and Bellamy’s heart sank at her words. “I mean,” she paused, and Bellamy felt his throat dry up, waiting for her to continue. “I mean, no, it’s—I want—I’d like to. A lot.” Her smiled weakly at him, hands gripping the edge of the table tightly.

“Oh,” he exhaled. Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck, watching her press her lips together in slightly embarrassed amusement. His own mouth curved into a smile uncontrollably, and she let out a nervous laugh.

“Yeah. I’d like to go to dinner with you,” she repeated softly.

“Okay then. Um, Saturday?” His mind was already racing, trying to plan something fun.

“Perfect.”

Bellamy grinned at her for another few seconds, until he finally realized Kane was waiting on him. With a hurried farewell, he backed out the door, walking down the hall towards Kane’s office, still grinning, especially when he realized Clarke stared happily at him the entire way.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t like Clarke hadn’t seen Bellamy in a suit before. In fact, suits were almost the only clothing she did see him in, given that most of their dates in the past month had happened after work, and both of them were always too busy to have time to go home and change. It was finally on their date last weekend, when he took her to small, hole-in-the-wall art gallery, and wore jeans and a henley, that she realized this fact. Not that he didn’t look good then, because he certainly did, enough for her to tug him into a secluded corner of the gallery and kiss him senseless before a random docent’s footsteps had startled them back to reality.

Still, when he had showed up at her door tonight to pick her up in celebration of her first project moving on to the clinical trial phase, wearing a suit and a smile that made her fall for him all over again, she felt her insides melt, because _damn did he look good_. It almost made her want to tug on his tie, pulling him down to her lips tell him that they should just stay in tonight before kissing him like crazy.

The dress she had on tonight, though, was a killer, and she didn’t want to waste that potential. Raven had personally promised to steal the dress permanently if she didn’t wear it outside the apartment, so Clarke had motivation to follow through with their dinner. The heat in Bellamy’s eyes, though, made it all the more difficult for her to shrug on her jacket, grab her keys, and usher him out the door.

“What if we—” he started to say curiously, and she laughed, cutting him off.

“You’re taking me out tonight. I was promised great steak and even better crème brulee.”

“I know,” Bellamy sighed, tugging her into his side affectionately.

“After, though,” she murmured pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Then, slowly, her voice full of intention, she offered, “I’m game for whatever.”

She felt his chest expand as he took in a deep breath. Looking up at him, she saw heat flare in his eyes, along with something a bit apprehensive, almost nervous. “I’m holding you to that.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

* * *

It wasn’t even ten minutes after they sat down that Clarke regretted turning down his offer to skip the meal part of their night. Granted, dinner was delicious, and she loved talking with Bellamy, but _damn it_ they had been dating for a month, and though both of them had readily agreed to take it slow, she needed, wanted sex. Like, yesterday. And the way Bellamy kept tugging at his tie, until it hung crookedly around his neck, told her that he was just as ready as she was.

Somehow though, they made it through even desert, even if the looks he was giving her were getting increasingly more heated. By the time he scribbled off his signature on the receipt, she was already flushing in anticipation. Their coats were on and they were standing even before the waiter had come back to collect the bill, and they only made it just out of sight of the restaurant’s valet stand when Bellamy walked her into the side of building, his lips capturing hers roughly.

She almost moaned at the heated contact, and she twisted her hands against his thick coat, disappointed the material kept her from feeling more of him. They kept at it for a bit longer, until Bellamy’s hands reached down to slide up her thighs, and then Clarke finally broke it off.

“My place or yours?” She panted.

Bellamy chuckled as he planted a trail of kisses along her neck. “My apartment is right around the corner, luckily enough.”

“Oh, so a restaurant around the corner from your apartment just happened to have the best steak in the city?” She asked, her voice both breathy and amused as he moved his hands up to grip her waist tightly.

“It does have the best steak in the city. Just an added perk that it’s close to where I live.”

“You were that sure I’d want to go home with you?” she teased.

He stopped kissing her neck suddenly, raising his head to look at her, eyes serious.

“No,” he said with conviction. “I certainly didn’t expect anything. I hoped. I really _really_ hoped,” his lips tugged upwards in such a boyish fashion with those words that Clarke couldn’t help but laugh, “but no, there were no expectations.”

“I was just teasing, Bellamy,” she whispered, tapping her fingers against his chest in reassurance. “Trust me, I’m about to explode right now, so let’s go, hm?”

With a low chuckle, Bellamy leaned down to give her one more slow, long, intense kiss before he grabbed her hand and tugged, pulling her down the sidewalk.

His apartment was just around the corner, as she soon found out, though it took them much longer than necessary to get there, given the way they kept stopping for more stolen kisses along the way. The elevator was a particularly distracting, given the length of the ride and its privacy. Finally, Bellamy ambled her out, propelling her down the hallway until he backed her into his apartment door. She giggled when he struggled to get the key in the lock. Reaching up, she smoothed out the wrinkle in his forehead caused by his frowning, tutting teasingly at the swear words he was mumbling out.

“Breathe,” she whispered.

“You breathe,” he muttered back nonsensically.

Her laugh at his response was cut off by the door finally opening and his mouth descending on hers again. They fumbled their way to his bedroom, discarding coats and his shirt along the way. When he stepped back to shut his door, Clarke hurriedly pulled her dress over her head, liking the way his lips parted with apparent want when he turned back around and raked his eyes over her.

“Condoms are in the bedside table drawer,” he breathed, then stepped quickly towards her. As he arms wrapped around her solidly, she froze.

“Shit,” she hissed, dropping her forehead against his heated, bare chest.

“What’s wrong?”

He started to let go, clearly reading her tone wrong. In response, she clutched him tighter, and his arms came around her again, though this time more hesitantly. Squeezing his sides to reassure him, she was now the one muttering swear words. “It’s just—I have this allergy. To latex, and so I need special condoms, and I completely forgot to bring some. So—”

She felt him press a kiss to her forehead, then chuckled lightly. “Not a problem,” he said, pulling away so she was forced to look up at him in question.

“Check the drawer,” he repeated, nodding in that direction.

Clarke did what he asked, and yes, in there was a box of non-latex condoms.

Looking over her shoulder, she felt her lips turn up into a confused smile. “How did you know?”

“You, uh, mentioned it once. Something about the gloves, I think, and I, uh, just happened to remember.”

Clarke tried to remember talking about it with him, and then the memory finally came to her.

“Oh my god, that was like on only our third meeting!”

“Yeah,” Bellamy replied slowly, a bit sheepishly.

“You’ve been thinking about sleeping with me for that long?” She accused jokingly, jutting her hip out and placing a hand on it in mock indignation.

“No,” Bellamy said, even as he shook his head yes.

Clarke snorted, and he laughed, moving forward to take her in his arms again.

“You know,” she said, trying to keep herself from groaning at the way his heat stirred her up. “You never did apologize for being such an ass that first day.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, cheekily, pressing a quick, claiming kiss on her mouth.

“Thank you,” she sniffed.

He bit her lip in retaliation, then continued, “I’m sorry…that I caught you drinking on the job on your first day.”

“You suck at this apology thing, you know.”

“Not my strongest suit—lawyers don’t say they’re sorry a lot, not good for the reputation. So sue me.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, face scrunching up in disapproval at the bad joke. Bellamy just grinned at her, squeezing her sides with his large, warm hands as he walked her back towards the bed. They fell onto it together, and Clarke let out a satisfied sigh at the way Bellamy’s weight pressed her into his mattress.

“Oh, come on, that was funny. It’s a classic lawyer joke,” he murmured against her shoulder as he began kissing her skin there.

“You are hilarious,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “And you make fun of me for making nerdy science jokes.”

“That’s cause they’re not funny.”

“I think they are.”

“ _Jasper_ thinks they are. You only think they are when you’re drunk.”

“And yet you put up with them anyways. Plus, you do think they’re funny.”

“I do not.”

He grumbled when she pinched his side. “You do to, admit it.”

“Fine, I think they’re funny.”

“You’re just saying that to get laid.”

“No, I’m just saying that because I like you a whole hell of a lot, bad science jokes and all.”

Clarke’s breath caught at his words, and Bellamy smiled down at her. Slowly, she returned his grin, before leaning up to press her lips to his, both in thanks and in promise.

“There’s more of where that came from,” she mumbled happily before losing herself in him again, returning the kiss with all she had, and more, conversation entirely forgotten as they began to focus on entirely different kind of chemistry.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was my effort to contribute my professional knowledge for a Bellarke fic #sciencebitches.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://kay-emm-gee.tumblr.com)


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